


Landslide

by isnt (noneedforhystereks)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Hale's Father, Gen, Hale Family Feels, Headcanon, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Papa Hale headcanons, The Hale Family, The Hale Pack - Freeform, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 20:02:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1911930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noneedforhystereks/pseuds/isnt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by an anon ask I got on tumblr: "Do you have theory about Derek Hale's father?"</p><p>Turns out, yes. Yes I do. 3k words worth of theory, apparently. (Also: guess which Fleetwood Mac song played during the making of this fic?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Landslide

Derek’s dad had a strong name; something classic and English like William or Bernard (I am huge with onomastics and the history of names, so sorry). Bernard means something like "brave bear", and William means protector (literally, "desires to protect" since we have ‘will, desire’ + ‘helm, i.e. protection’). This makes sense to me because my headcanon is that his father gave Derek a family name from his side of the family. Talia had fun with the whole rhyming thing but William sat for hours and looked at baby name books, reading through etymologies and name groups. In terms of their origins, the names Laura and Cora have nothing in common nor do they have particularly significant meanings. But Derek was the first boy, in my head. And Talia wanted Will/Bernard to name their first son. Let’s go with William.

So, Derek: “leader of the people”. William had aspirations of his son growing into a strong, alpha wolf. Not because he was a boy, but because he was born so strong and on the Wolf Moon, no less. So William dreams, cradling Derek’s little head against his chest. He whispers his hopes against the downy hair on his son’s head, falls asleep talking about full moon runs and the power of the shift. (Talia lets William have his dreams, but she has her money on Laura.)

William came from a small town in Rhode Island, on the coast and always gray. He’s an only child without much in terms of family besides his parents. He grows up spending as much of his time reading as playing outside. He develops a fascination with stories about fantastic creatures and the world of magic. His father tells him faeries aren’t real; his mother doesn’t tell him much of anything. When he graduates from high school, he packs up and heads for California. His parents pushed for an Ivy League and he applies to Stanford, without any backup plans. He’s not close to his mother or his father, doesn’t have any grandparents or cousins. His father spends his time at work or working on an antique sailboat. He spends more time trying to restore the salt-worn planks on the husk of the boat, than on the withering foundations of his marriage. William’s mother is quiet and distant, more of a hostess than a maternal figure. She's beautiful in the same way china teacups are beautiful: cold, delicate, hollow. When he leaves home, he's really just trading one dorm for another. Although, the academy he spent his adolescence doesn't even compare to the beautiful buildings at Stanford or the California sunshine.

He double majors in History and Anthropology because it interests him. “ _William, son, you couldn’t have picked something a little more, I don’t know. Something a little more….useful?_ ” his father asks during one phone call. He blows through undergrad in three years because he doesn’t have much reason to go home for summers or breaks and he takes classes nonstop. He’s a hard worker, dedicated and driven. It’s when he’s working on his Master’s thesis on the evolution of mythology within the contexts of Anglo-Saxon and western religion (or something along those lines) when he drives up to Beacon Hills. The town isn’t much, but there’s a family his mentor has referred him to out there. Some old, reclusive family that hides out in the woods (“ _It’s a preserve, Bill. We live in the Beacon Hills Preserve. Stop saying we ‘hide out in the woods’ like we’re a bunch of hermits or a cult or something. Jesus_.”)

The Hale family immediately takes to him. He’s sharp-witted and charming, handsome and warm. He has his mother’s thick wavy, black hair, and his father’s square jaw. He has startlingly bright green eyes and a dimple on his left cheek that winks every time he smiles. “ _And he’s got an ass that won’t quit,_ ” Miriam Hale quips, much to Talia’s absolute mortification. Her grandmother is just the _worst_.

Talia, actually, doesn’t see the big to-do over the guy. Sure he’s handsome. But he has weird teeth and peanut-shaped ears. And he’s not that smart. The guy’s what, 21 years old? How brilliant can he be? Plus, he’s weirdly obsessed with mythology and sometimes Talia thinks he knows. _Knows_ knows. No one else could possibly be that interested in correlations between Celtic folklore and the depiction of mythological creatures in modern society (her father, Stuart, smirks when she announces this; she knows what Bill is studying because he’s said it so many times. “ _Geez, Dad. Leave me alone.”_ ). So Talia mostly glares at him every time he comes over to talk to Grandpa Hale (“ _Just call me Fred_ ,” he says like it’s not a big deal. Like Frederick Hale isn’t one of the strongest and most important alphas this side of the Mississippi) and rolls her eyes when he smiles at her.

—

Anyway, the more Will looks into Beacon Hills, the more confused he gets. It’s like every question he has is answered with three more. There are gaps in the town’s history, most of which Fred Hale smiles and shakes his head at.

“Beacon Hills has its secrets,” he tells him. “Some are best left buried.”

The Hales chuckle at this like it’s a joke but Will doesn’t get it. Fred gets up and takes him for a tour around the woods, which turn out to be home to hundreds of native plants used in Celtic ritual and pagan practice. It’s a gold mine for his paper, but William can’t help feeling like he’s been manipulated.

See, Will has a tendency to lose himself a bit while he’s researching. He practically lived in the library when he was working on his first thesis, coming out to shower and maybe eat. So he’s doing pretty much the same thing, now: renting a room at the motel in the center of town and perusing the archives every chance he gets. Fred Hale finally just invites the guy to stay with the Hales; he likes him, he tells Will. Truthfully, the rest of the Hale family seems pretty keen to help him out with his research. Well. All except Talia.

She’s tall and muscular, strangely so for someone as young as she is. At only nineteen, she seems ages older: the severity in her eyes and the confidence in the way she carries herself are timeless. And she can’t seem to stand him. She’s always there to answer the door when Will comes over, but she answers his smile with a heavy-browed frown. Always snarking at him and huffing, unimpressed, when he tells her about his research. She is always quick to refute all of his theories about the possible validity of some monster legends from the 18th century with sarcasm and even blatant shit-talking (“ _Werewolves, Bill? Sure. And I’m an abominable snowman.”_ ). The more interest he takes in her family and the surrounding town, the more aggravated Talia becomes. Still—she helps him, dutifully. Will has never met anyone like her. To be completely honest, Will was gone on Talia from the moment he met her.

“Good morning,” he says one morning as she flings open the front door. “It’s, uh, nice to see you, Talia.”

She narrows her eyes at him, searching for something. When he blushes and grins at her, nervously, she nods her head and lets him in. “You look nice today,” she mutters. Will’s smile feels like it’s going to break his face in half.

—

One night, Will is a few miles into the preserve collecting samples, when he hears the howling. The skin on his neck prickles and he can feel a bead of sweat slip down his spine. It’s beautiful, no doubt. The wolves sing in harmonies that sound like moonlight, cascading moonbeams trapped in their voices. Will startles at the thought. _There are no wolves in California._

He takes off running before he can even stop to think about the consequences. The crashing of branches and foliage behind him drives him further. His breathing turns pained and heavy, his chest feels on the verge of combusting. Will screams into the darkness of the preserve, crying out hysterically as his feet slap painfully against the forest floor. A monstrous, furred body crashes into his back and there’s a brief moment where William thinks he’s going to die. He can’t see the thing that has him pinned to the ground, but he can feel its breath on his neck and a drop of its saliva on his scalp. A growl sends vibrations through his body and he whimpers in pure terror. “This is it,” he whispers. “I’m totally going to die.”

He’s interrupted from all-out sobbing when another _thing_ comes crashing through the trees and into the thing on top of him. He spins onto his back and watches with mounting horror as the two creatures slash and snap at each other on the dirt floor. They are, indeed, enormous and hairy. Almost canine-like in shape, the two creatures bear a startling resemblance to the stories William has been collecting and reading for the last four and half years of his studying. Monstrous bodies with distorted limbs yet still grotesquely anthropomorphic. Lupine jaws with glowing eyes. The smaller of the two has shiny beast also has long, auburn hair like a person. A very distinct, very _person-like_ head of hair William has come to know, even admire. _I was so right about the werewolves,_ William thinks hysterically.

The larger wolf traps the smaller wolf in its jaws, teeth tightening around its flank and ripping out a chunk of flesh. The answering snarl sounds pained and crazed, which finally spurs William into moving. He grabs a large, jagged branch off the floor and hurtles toward the wolves. He jabs the jagged end into the torso of the larger creature, driving the wood upward through flesh. The wolf falls back and in the second it falters, the wolf behind William lunges forward and closes jaws around the weakened creature. With a quick jerk of its head, it’s all over. The beast lies motionless on the floor. 

“You’re such a _moron_!” the wolf screeches at him, words muffled from the fangs in its mouth. It hunches over, panting and shaking. Before Will can answer, the creature shivers and convulses as the tufts of hair recede from its face, brow bones seemingly melt back into its skull, and fangs slip back into its mouth. When it stills, all that’s left is Talia, her eyes furious and her body still trembling with the efforts from her shift. Her eyes glow a deep, beautiful red. “Collecting berries on a full freakin’ moon! What the hell is wrong with you?” 

“I was collecting plant samples. There aren’t even berries in here. I almost died for a piece of rowan wood and some _mistletoe_ and—,” William responds, dazed. He gasps out, horrified, as he takes in the woman in front of him. Talia flinches at the sound and there’s a flash of hurt on her face. “Oh my God: _y_ _ou’re naked._ ” William wants to look away but he can’t seem to look anywhere else.

Talia’s face crumples and she laughs so hard, she starts to cry. Then she’s running into William’s arms, still laughing through sobs. William grunts at the impact and holds her close.

—

“So you’re an alpha now?” William asks, weeks later. He’s finished with his work in Beacon Hills now, although he’s had to slightly change his thesis. Obviously, there was some truth in his “some supernatural legends are not so super and a whole lot natural” hypothesis but he can’t exactly publish that now. After some shouting and some posturing from Fred and Stuart Hale, even some swearing and a memorable explosion of some chairs, everything had mostly deescalated. There was also a weird blood-oath ritual that Miriam Hale had done but Will can’t tell if that was just for show. William asked a thousand questions and only received about a hundred answers. But he’s pretty satisfied and a lot less terrified than he thought he’d be. He hasn’t spoken to Talia since she walked him back to the Hale house, bloody and wearing his shirt. He also hasn’t seen the shirt since. 

“Yeah,” Talia says quietly. She leans into him when he sits down next to her. The forest is quiet except for a few birds. The wooden porch creaks under them when William shifts to put a hesitant arm around Talia’s shoulders. “My mom says I’ll make a great leader; says I would have inherited the alpha title from someone eventually.”

“Are you scared?” Will asks. He would be terrified of all that power inside him. He thinks about his parents. He thinks about the moon. He thinks about the strength of the woman next to him.

“No,” Talia answers truthfully. She reaches up and wraps her fingers around his wrist. She gives it a squeeze and rests her head against his chest. “I have my pack. We’ll figure it out.”

William nods his head in agreement. “We will.”

The birds sing and William feels at home.

—

Talia asks him to move in and William doesn’t hesitate to say yes. He’s already pack and the Hales are as much his family as his own parents. William asks for the bite a year later, finished at Stanford and ready to settle down. He's already moved in and settled within the pack so the turn seems like the next logical step. Talia doesn’t agree, fights him and screams that he’s being selfish. They don’t talk for almost a month after that until Talia comes home after a run in the woods one day and kisses William softly. She holds him and tells him she’s scared she’ll lose him. Talia, who has never been afraid of anything. William kisses her hair and tells her he trusts his alpha to do whatever is right. That night, with the moon full and bright in the sky, she takes his wrist in her mouth and bites as hard as she can without breaking any bones. They lay next to each other, waiting for whatever may come.

William wakes up, feeling too big for his skin. His mouth aches and his hands feel like molten lead. Talia helps him make his first shift and smiles when he flashes his eyes amber-gold at her. He howls at her, then laughs when Talia tells him to shut up. It will be weeks and months and years before he’s mastered who he is now, but as he kisses Talia’s fanged mouth he feels like he’s got this. He’s ready.

— 

“Where’s Papa?” Derek asks. He’s restless and weepy tonight, but Laura’s patience is wearing thin. “Where’s Poppy, Lo?”

Laura sighs and pushes his grubby hands away from her face. “Momma said he went away, Derek. He’ll be back soon.” She rolls over to glare at her brother’s face. His lower lip trembles and he whines as he shudders through a wet sob. His ears are pointy with the shift and Laura knows he can hear her heart stutter.

“You’re lying!” Derek cries. “Lo, where’s Papa?”

Laura’s saved from having to lie again when Talia comes into the room, scooping Derek into her arms. She whispers into the soft fur of his cheeks, ignoring his small, needle-like claws as they tear into the shirt on her chest. The full Hunter's moon is almost orange in the October sky and it casts a strange glow on everything in Laura’s room. Talia looks tired and pale- weak, where she is usually strong and bright. Laura turns away at the sight until she’s breathing deeply into her pillow, eyes and teeth clenched.

She can’t hear her mom but she catches a quiet “ _—he’s gone, baby.”_ It shouldn't hit her like it does. She’s known from the day her mom walked into the den without her dad by her side, trembling and blank-faced. She’s known since Uncle Peter came to live with them, taking her dad's place as Talia’s second. Baby-faced and already blue-eyed, he's desperately trying to fill her dad's shoes. Everyone talks about how it won’t last long. Talia and Peter have never gotten along, even when they were younger. Their relationship is strained and they move around each other like strangers; it's been twelve years since Talia has seen him. Laura is a little scared of him. Laura has known since she felt the pack tie between herself and her dad wrenched from her suddenly like the flame of a candle blown out. She felt his loss the second it happened. There was a visceral, devastating nothingness torn into her where he'd used to be and it ached like she’d lost a limb.

When her mom had first come home, Laura tried asking her what had happened. Her mom had gone rigid when she asked, like the words had physically struck her. She told Laura she’d tell her when she was older. Laura eavesdropped later that night, ear pressed against the floor in her sister’s room—right above the study where her alpha took visitors. She heard voices, one loud and angry belonging to Grandpa Stu and the desperate, broken cries from her mom. Uncle Peter was noticeably silent. Laura heard her mom's friend, Deaton, speak softly amongst the shouting voices. She heard words like “ambush” and “vendetta”; things like “sword” and “monkshood” echoed in her mind as she pressed her cheek into the cold hardwood. Each word was a drop in a glass already full, threatening to spill Laura over the edge. She heard the name “Argent” and then—she heard Grandpa Stu cry. Laura wished she never heard a word.

Laura doesn’t know what to do without her dad. The whole world aches with his loss, the house too big and the woods dark without his light. He had taught Laura how to hunt and how to tie her shoes. He’d taken her on her first full moon run, while Talia had stayed with the babies. He was a part of her like her own wolf or the moon. But as much as Laura suffers, she knows Derek has it worse. Derek, only five years old and a born wolf, struggles with the cut tie differently than Laura does. While Laura loved her dad, he was Derek's whole world: his _anchor._ Now, his wolf is new and uncontrolled. Without an anchor, Derek’s wolf is almost feral. Stuck in his little body, he struggles to resurface after he shifts. Talia uses an old shirt to bring him back each time, hushes him while he takes long pulls of breath from the soft cotton. But everyone knows scent fades when the person isn't there to renew it, when the object isn't kept sealed and protected. 

Derek's shift had come early, a painful reminder that their pack had suddenly shrank and a manifestation of its need for more wolves. It was rare for wolves to shift while younger than ten, but not entirely unheard of. Laura tried helping her brother through his painful first shift, but he’d sank his small fangs in the tender soft skin of her inner forearm and she had screamed until Talia came and took him away. She’d spent the night in the twins’ nursery with Cora, Eric and Devon sound asleep above them. She and Cora had cried and held each other the whole night, Derek’s cries the only noise in the silence of the preserve.

Talia sings to Derek, now. Laura recognizes the tune, hears her mom play it all the time. The CD it’s on is scratched but Talia puts it on every morning since the morning she woke up without William. Laura comes downstairs and sits at the kitchen table, listens to pretty lady's voice with her mom in the silence of an empty kitchen. The songs will play until everyone wakes up and then the radio will be shut off without a word.

Laura can hear Derek frustrated whimpers, her mom's deep breaths, and quiet singing. Laura hums with her now, slipping into sleep where she'll dream of a soft, gauzy moon and her dad's footprints in the snow.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr: [Personal](http://anaisnt.tumblr.com/)  
> or [Fandom](http://isntafan.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I am always open for prompts.


End file.
